


just because we work

by raven_aorla



Series: But Now I've Got You [2]
Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Rape Recovery, iron woobies, romantic and sexual are different
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:40:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set on a (bloody small) ship taking Q and Bond from Thailand back to England, joined by Eve Moneypenny and a few others to provide support. Q may be out of the initial crisis stage but he and Bond both figuratively and literally have a long ways to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> No one owns anything ever, especially not other people's characters, of which there are several in this fic that is not for any sort of monetary gain.
> 
> This Very Special Prologue is in fact a missing-scene fanfic of the previous installment in this series, "don't open your eyes just yet". The author has requested that she not be named, but did give me permission for a light edit, such feeble Brit-pricking as I know, and to love her forever and ever.

_  
“_ You know,” Q says a bit later, once they’d both had some time to recover from bringing so much to the surface at once, “There are many advantages to actually being able to program, even only at a beginner level.” Bond looks up from his book.

“Are you expressing a desire to teach me programming?” _considering how the last attempt went_ hangs in the air unspoken.

“Just a very basic foundation – University 101. Nothing extraordinary. And we can switch from Perl to Java – it doesn’t have nearly as much strange punctuation, and most of the words are actually pronounceable.” Q, Bond is about to say, about to refuse, but he sees the vulnerability lurking again beyond its barricade. Last time he’d been stuck in a hospital bed post-torture, he’d faked cardiac arrest and flown to Cuba. Competence. Yeah, he knows what that is like.

“Pronounceable by whose standards, exactly?” he says instead, and gets back on the bed again, opening the laptop and trying to angle it so they both can see. He doesn’t miss Q’s shadow of a smile. “So, where do we start this time?”

“Are we still in TextWrangler? Yes, good. Go to File, new. And from now on, everything’s a lowercase letter unless I tell you otherwise.” Bond looks at the blinking cursor in the blank-again window. There’s probably a metaphor here, but he’s far from in the mood to puzzle it out. “All right – no, don’t type that. Import – java – dot – no, the period dot – u – t – i – l – dot – scanner with a capital S. Semicolon. Now, press return twice. All right, let’s save now so you get the benefit of the colours. Go to file –“

“I do know how to save a file, Q,” Bond points out, more in amusement than annoyance. He gets another smile for it.

“Name the file hello world – both capitalized, no spaces – dot java.” He clicks ‘save’, and once the save window is gone, Bond notices that the word ‘import’ has, indeed turned blue.

“The marvels of technology,” he observes, looking over at Q. “I think I could get used to this.”

Q smirks. “Just wait until we get to the printing part.”

“What happens when we get to the printing part?”

“You’ll see.” Then adds, a second later, “Don’t worry, it won’t explode. That’s the advanced class. Now, typing again. public – class – HelloWorld like the file name. press return again. open curly bracket. Return again. tab. Public static void main – no space after main. Open parenthesis. Capital–s – String – no space again. Square brackets – yes, both of them. Space. a – r – g – s. Close parenthesis. Return and open curly bracket again.”

Bond has to admit, this is indeed far easier than the previous attempt. And there’s an odd satisfaction in finishing a word and watching it change as though on command. He considers using this program to write his next field report, then decides that M will be most definitely not amused. Q continues, “Tab again. Capital-s System – dot – out – dot – print – no space – l – n. Now type ‘Hello world – two words this time, exclamation mark at the end – enclosed in first quotes and then parentheses.’”

Bond obliges, and is promptly rewarded by the words turning bright pink. He looks up at Q, trying to hide his own smile. “Very funny.”

“See, I told you nothing would explode. Alright, semicolon, return, close curly bracket, return, delete – yes, that’s to adjust the spacing – close curly bracket. And, we’re done.” Bond looks at the nine lines of typing currently in front of him.

“Seriously?”

“Well, we still have to compile and run it. But the program’s done. I told you, beginner level. Now, save again, and we can go to terminal.”

Bond raises his eyebrows. “I’d prefer to avoid terminal situations, myself.”

And suddenly Q’s staring at nothing.

“No, terminal’s not so bad. It’s the not knowing that gets you.”

And for a moment, Bond is frozen right there with him. _Everyone needs a hobby. What’s yours? "Resurrection._ ** _"_ ** Pointing guns or having them pointed back – he told everyone it didn’t bother him, and for the most part they believed him. And for the most part he believed himself. Mostly.

“Terminal is a program, 007,” says Q, and sounds so exactly like the MI6 Q that it’s disturbing. And Bond, of all people, knows walls going up when he hears them. And knows, as close to his core as he knows anything, that sometimes walls are all that keeps everything from falling down.

“Well, you know me, Q. Always wanting to press triggers.” Q’s breathing, trying to bring himself back down. Bond watches him, ready to jump in. Ready to stay out.

Q takes a final breath. “Anyway, go to the upper right hand corner of the screen – there’s a little magnifying glass there. Click on it and type in ‘terminal’. Now, click on that.“ His voice is almost back to what has been normal here. Bond obliges and gets another window – not quite empty, this time. “type c-d- space capital D Desktop. Return. Java – c- space – HelloWorld – no space – dot – java. Return. Alright, did we get any errors?” Bond looks at the seemingly random string of letters and numbers in front of him.

“What does an error look like?”

“Well, it says ‘error’-.“

“How considerate of it. I don’t see anything that says error.” Q cranes his neck to look.

“Good. Now type java HelloWorld – like the file name again. Return.” This time, the result is obvious to even Bond – below where he’d been typing, the line “Hello World!” appears in the window. “And there we are. Your first program.” Bond looks at it.

“Why ‘Hello World’ specifically?”

“It’s tradition. Back from the 1970’s.”

“Is this…all it does?”

“Well – yes. Simple, remember. We can work on something more complicated after I explain all the parts to you.” Bond nods, busy looking from the ‘terminal’ window to the text. Then he starts typing again.

“What are you doing?”

Bond turns the computer slightly so that Q can’t quite see.

“Bond – James – 007!” Q sounds indignant, but not in an alarming way.

“What, did your uni classes not have anything for the students to do? Give me a minute.” He types some more, then turns the screen back to Q. The second lowest line on the terminal window now reads “The World is Not Enough”. Now it’s Q’s turn to stare.

“Family motto,” explains Bond. Then adds, in response to the actual not-asked question. “Pink part without the quotes, right – that’s what it’s printing? You know, I wouldn’t have lasted long in the field if I didn’t know how to catch onto things. It’s not all trigger pressing.” He turns the laptop again. The new message, when he turns it back, reads, “does this mean I start wearing pyjamas?” And suddenly Q’s smiling at him, properly smiling, not the hesitant thin-lipped curves of before.

“Nong might be a bit surprised.”

“Nong has had greater surprises in her life than a double-oh in nightwear, I hope.”

“We should ask her to bring us some Earl Grey tea. Set the mood for our next lesson.”

“Will this be the one where things explode?”

“Only if something is very wrong with the tea.”

“May I put my arm around you?” It comes out without him quite meaning it to – thinking back to their first encounter, sitting about as close as they are now.

“Only if you put down the laptop first. Don’t want to risk your hard work.”

Bond scoffs - “Do you know the kinds of things I’ve held one-handed?” - but sets the laptop beside the bed before pulling himself farther onto it. He’s careful as he gets them into position. “Hello, Q.” Q leans against him.

“Hello, James.”

Sometimes, the world breaks into pieces. Sometimes, the world is enough.


	2. Chapter 2

It isn't fun, being transferred secretly from the Bangkok hospital where Q has spent the last few days to the ship that will deliberately take its time returning him and 007 to England. Once it's over and he is installed in a cabin with all the most modern medical equipment that could possibly be of use to him, a larger and plusher bed than he had earlier, and a separate bed across the room for James Bond to keep guard over him, Q allows himself to relax a little.

James - Q is working hard to call him "James", even in his head - is back in one of his habitual outrageously expensive suits. Though Q notes with some smugness that even if the Thai Secret Service agent they know only as "Nong" can't afford brand names, her standard light grey suits are exquisitely tailored and give James a run for his money. She is on board, too, sharing a cabin with her girlfriend, Nurse Rojana, when neither of them happen to be watching over him. Q never had any sisters but he imagines those two evoke an idealized version of what having a pair of older ones would have been like. 

As he inspects the cabin for any possible dangers, even pulling every book off the small bookcase to flip through the pages in a manner one could only describe as interrogatory, James gives Q a swift rundown of the situation. "Eve - well, Miss Moneypenny now I suppose, wouldn't want her to shoot me again - should arrive from Suvarnabhumi Airport shortly. She's bringing a very, very thoroughly background-checked doctor who specializes in physical therapy so Rojana won't have to do all the work. Moneypenny herself will be mostly assisting your telecommuting work, because apparently Q Branch is falling to pieces without you, which I suppose is a compliment of sorts to your abilities. If in the very unlikely chance that a threat should arise that Nong and I cannot deal with on our own, Moneypenny is fully cleared to fall back on her field training. Once they're here we can cast off. There are six members of the crew, besides, but we're going to do our best to minimize your contact with them - not my idea, M's. He's a bit paranoid after the water cooler drugging."

"I would hate to think anyone around here was paranoid in the slightest," Q comments, noting that James has finished inspecting the books and is trying to take apart the remote control for the television in the far corner of the cabin. 

"I killed a man in Kazakhstan with a remote control," James retorts.

Q gives him an exaggerated saccharine smile. "Indubitably."

"Snot."

"Berserker."

There is a knock on the door. James stalks to it like a somewhat cranky panther and looks through the peephole before opening it. "You two have been getting on like a house afire, I hear," says a warm voice. Eve enters, a little rumpled from travel but still polished and energetic, with a large suitcase.

"Don't houses on fire involve a lot of screaming and property destruction?" Q asks.

Eve puts the suitcase aside and looks Q over. Some of the spark goes out of her eyes when she sees his broken fingers, bruises, and leg casts, but she presses on without commenting upon them. "That's a decent summary of Bond in the field."

"I'm standing right here, you know."

"It's good to see you, Q," Eve says, paying James no mind. "May I give you a hug?"

"If you do it carefully. I'm glad to see you too."

Her hug is slow and friendly, with a brief squeeze at the end by way of punctuation. "Dr. Byrd will be here soon to make introductions. She's tidying up from the journey in her cabin. I have something for you."

Q gives her an ineffectual reciprocation of the hug, since he is nervous about his fingers. "Oh?"

James is now uncapping all the pens in the cup on the work desk, shaking them upside-down. Though Eve upon retreating from Q's bedside gives James an amused glance, she does not goad him about it. Instead she opens the suitcase and pulls out a glass jar. "When you went missing we broke into your flat to look for clues. I observed you had notes on your refrigerator, front door, and mirror that all had reminders about caring for your venus flytrap. Even though I bent the agricultural laws a little, I brought it to keep you company."

"Aphrodite!" Q exclaims without meaning to.

"Pardon?" Eve asks, as she extracts the plant from the jar and puts it on Q's bedside table.

"Greek name for Venus," James says, finally turning to face them. "Goddess of love."


	3. Chapter 3

Dr. Byrd proves to be a tall, athletically-built woman in her early thirties wearing a floral sundress, flats, and tailored powder blue blazer, her golden hair knotted in a bun. She carries a pad of paper and a pen, and smiles at Q gently, as if trying not to spook him, upon entering. "Hello, Q. I will be both your physical therapist and attending psychologist for the duration. MI6 does like employees who can do at least double duty, as I am sure you know well by this point."

A shadow of distress crosses Q's face. "Ja-007 didn't say you were also a psychologist."

Bond bites his lip, feeling more contrite than he thought he would. "I was instructed to let her decide when to inform you."

"What, so I wouldn't make a fuss until it was too late?" Q takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again he sounds a bit more like the Quartermaster and less like the frightened young man, if not completely. "Sorry. Sorry. Unprofessional. It's no maligning of you meant, Dr. Byrd. I'm a little...on edge."

"Believe me, I've seen worse," Dr. Byrd replies. She sounds like she means it, but then psychologists are practised at giving such impressions. She arranges herself on the chair next to Q's bed and uncaps her pen. "Mr. Bond, if you would leave us to it, please? Confidentiality."

Bond nods. When he sees Q's tight, stricken look at being left alone even with someone so relatively nonthreatening, he yields enough to say quietly, "I'll be just outside, I promise."

On other parts of the ship the crew members are busy casting off, but there is a portion of the deck designated for Q and his support system, where the crew is not to trespass unless absolutely necessary. Bond goes there now to get some air. He is sufficiently preoccupied that he takes his jacket off as a concession to the heat but rather than taking proper care of it he drapes it one of the wicker chairs and sits in an adjacent seat.

Moneypenny approaches and sits in the chair on his other side. "He doesn't look good. I mean, his bones will heal and everything, but he looks like he's been peeled raw inside and it's made him...not him."

Bond make a noise that could be agreement or just a way to acknowledge he's listening. "Doesn't seem right to talk about him without him knowing."

"I suppose you're right. How are you holding up?"

"This is a restful compared to some missions. Can't complain."

She turns to give him her you're-not-fooling-me stare. "That's not what I mean."

"Of all of us on board Dr. Byrd is the only one remotely qualified to do any sort of analysis."

"Just be careful. There are ways to get hurt that don't involve weapons. Let me know when he's ready for me to set up the office equipment, Bond? Some of his underlings spent days making a voice-operated system he might be willing to use without constant complaints. They're actually lurching on fine without him, for the most part, but it would go a little easier with his involvement; besides, after hearing your report Dr. Byrd advised we allow him to work as much as he can to help return him to a sense of normalcy. Though she said it in more technical terms." Moneypenny gets to her feet again and stretches. "For now, the Thai ladies have promised to teach me how to play their favorite card game, and I hate to disappoint. Ta."

"A regular hen party, this voyage," Bond says to himself once Moneypenny departs, but without rancor. There are worse arrangements and in some ways this is rather congenial.

Truth be told, he knows plenty of talking about Q without Q present has taken place, and much more will be discussed in the future. The man is both a national treasure for his particular genius, and for the same reason potentially the most dangerous weapon that could ever be turned against Queen and country. If they didn't need Q content to work with them Bond wouldn't be surprised if MI6 didn't try to keep him imprisoned in Q branch so no one else could get to him. Though perhaps if they gave him enough tea and gave him enough to do he might not notice for the first few days of such protective custody.

Q will never, no matter if he wishes it, be permitted his own cyanide capsule or other equivalent, for he is too valuable to be given such control over his own brain and what it can do for the smooth workings of government and espionage. However, Bond's stern orders in the rescue operation had been to retrieve alive if at all possible; but as a last resort to terminate rather than leave in enemy hands. It would have been M's call as to what constituted "a last resort". 

Now Q seems to have latched onto Bond as his one trusted ally, the one person who can make him feel as safe as he can feel at all. Bond is both gratified and agonized by this. He knows what happens when people trust him. And even worse what happens when he needs them to be happy, needs them to be well, needs their trust in him to be justified and what saves them rather than becomes their destruction.

He knows how he would have felt if he had been required to kill Q. It's a burr in his throat and an itch between his shoulder blades. It's frustration and guilt and the worse thing is he doesn't want to stop feeling it, because it means there's more to him than "fighting and fucking alone", as he'd quipped during their banter a few days ago, that it did not all die with Vesper or the old M, his M.

Enough introspection. He promised Q he would wait just outside, and while there are multiple interpretations of that statement, he thinks his chest won't feel quite so knotted-up if he literally is close enough to dash in if Q raises his voice for any reason. Confidentiality be damned.


	4. Chapter 4

James charges in, ready to defend, kill, or defend by means of killing, and Q has to immediately explain, "I was _laughing_. Dr. Byrd told me an amusing anecdote."

The double-oh's entire demeanor switches from predatory to embarrassed. "Ah. Er. Sorry about that, ma'am."

Dr. Byrd has kept her composure admirably, and simply raises her eyebrows and makes a note on her pad of paper. "Interesting."

"Wait, were you sent to evaluate me, as well?" This seems to alarm James more than the thought that he might have throttled the therapist due to a misunderstanding.

"That's classified. Why don't I leave you two alone for a bit, Mr. Bond? Wouldn't want your separation anxiety to get out of hand, God forbid." She gets to her feet and nod at Q. "It's been good getting to know you, Quartermaster. I'll come for a visit tomorrow when you're more settled. Others can be present for the physical therapy if you choose, but you don't have to decide now."

"Thank you," Q replies sincerely, wishing he could shake hands. Or get up. Or do something other than be helpless.

She gives him a smile before departing, gracefully stepping around Jame's personal bubble.

"They've trained her well," Q comments before mock-glaring at his white knight. "Psychotic oaf."

"Effete boy-whippet." James takes off his tie and drapes it over the doorknob, looking at Q with a question in his eyes.

"Yes, come here." To his relief, Dr. Byrd hadn't demanded Q immediately tell her about his abduction or any of the other things that were troubling him, in fact she'd steered him away from anything heavy, insisting on keeping their conversation about him as a person rather than things he'd been through. It was still tiring, though, and he decides not to be ashamed of wanting comfort. "You don't have to ask before every individual action. Not anymore. I'll tell you to stop if I need to."

"Thank you." James' hushed tone is so sincere in its rawness that Q has trouble looking the man in the face. He doesn't need to, though, because James wraps his arms around him and tucks Q's head right under his chin, and he feels solid and together for a little while.

They breathe and hold, nothing else needed, for at least two minutes before Q remembers what he wanted to say. "In a bit - not now, but in a bit - Eve's welcome to come in and set up the hardware. And whoever else she needs to help her, of course. I assume it'll be voice-equipped."

"She said so. No more attempts to teach me coding."

"You have to admit that was hilarious."

James brushes an errant lock of hair out of Q's face. "I will admit to a lot of other things first. What do you plan on working on once you're back with your electronics?"

"Check my email, for starters. There's going to be a deluge. See if there's anything that would strongly benefit from my intervention or leadership. Check my favorite webcomics, perhaps, because contrary to what you may think I do know how to have fun."

"I see they really get wild and wicked in your department."

"Not all of us need alcohol and promiscuity to enjoy ourselves."

James is silent for a moment and Q begins to worry that he may have touched a nerve. But James soon nudges Q into a position where he can tidy his hair, producing a comb seemingly out of the aether to assist, and says, "I haven't indulged in nearly three weeks, and I feel fine."

Q means to do no more than mumble in a way that will show he is listening, but James is doing something to Q's scalp with the fingers and comb and it comes out as more of a purr. "Hmm-mmm-mm."

James makes a contented sound himself. "Who would have thought you could be so kittenish?"

"Feel free to eat any grubs you find, you gorilla." Q is mildly irritated that even this jab sounds fuzzy and soft around the edges. Not too irritated, though.

"Now, don't be snide. You know I'd share."

He wishes he didn't feel this anxiety bubbling up in him, but now he's getting more relaxed and his walls are coming down for a while he can't be stoic any longer; besides, does he really have to? "I know you don't want to upset me, but I want to know how many photographs my, well, my captors sent you and how widely they were circulated. I plan on writing a virus that will seek out any images with more than an 80% match to my face and automatically destroy them. It will only help with ones that are online, but that's something anyways and I can't, I just can't think of them being around anywhere I could possibly erase..."

"Q," Bond says, like it's causing him physical pain. "I...I never said there were any. Photographs. I merely failed to correct you."

"Why?" It would be nice if Q could clutch at something right about now. He leans into the chest behind him instead. "Just tell me. I'm not going to run away. I mean, I can't, but even if I could. You've been more than fair and generous."

"You act like I'm doing you a favor. Making sacrifices."

Q has so many follow-up questions to that, but one thing at a time. "Please, answer me."

James takes a deep breath. "It wasn't any mistakes of mine that led to your disappearance, but when they assigned me to rescue you I followed a red herring for more than twelve hours. I could have found you half a day earlier. I could have spared you at least some of it."

"Were you scared that you might have to kill me? Don't act surprised; I know the protocol. I'm too useful to the enemy to be allowed to work with them, of my own will or no. I found it comforting that someone would prevent such a thing. You..." Q thought about his word choice. "You would have made a clean shot, if you were ordered to, and that would have been the second best option."

"But I was late."

It's an awkward angle but Q manages to turn his head to make eye contact. "You were. But you are also here."

James stares. Simply stares. It goes on and on and Q starts to do whatever minimal fidgeting he is capable of.

Then Q gets sick of all this metaphorical tiptoeing and says, "For all the expletives I could think of and more, James Bond, Agent 007, just kiss me properly, would you?"

A moment later, Q needs to add, "But, you know, sort of gently, as well."

"Sorry."

Q gives him an affectionate headbutt in lieu of other not-currently-possible gestures. "It's all right, you hamfisted maniac. Let's try that again."

(And again. And again.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben Whishaw actually has been called a "slightly effete boy-whippet" by a professional journalist. I had to use it at some point.


	5. Chapter 5

Bond finds Nurse Rojana on the little private deck, leaning on the guardrail and watching the sea stream by. "Never left Thailand but for a travel to Laos once when young," she explains, hesitant but more comfortable around him than she was when they first met. She wears a long, colorful skirt, a t-shirt, and a light denim jacket. It makes her look like a schoolgirl on holiday. "Lao not different much."

"I would say Thailand is rather more congenial, but then again the Lao People's Democratic Republic and I had a bit of a disagreement when I was last there," Bond replies, speaking slightly slower than usual but not so much as to be condescending. "I'm here to ask where you put the plastic and tape to go over Q's casts. He prefers I continue assisting him when something does not require your expertise."

"They are in cupboard under sink. I take no offense. In Thailand often loved ones do such things, not the nurse." Her sweet smile brooks no contradiction. "I thank you. Your report help my love get promoted. She is now Agent 09. Lucky number too, for Thai. And we will get some days in England, to see things, exciting."

"You have more than earned it," Bond tells her before he returns to Q's side.

.....

"Bath or shower?"

Q says, "Computer, pause." He wonders if it was Akhansh in Programming who made it so the voice commands all had to begin with "computer" to register. The man was the biggest Star Trek nut Q had ever met, his tendencies perhaps exaggerated by most of his coworkers being far more enthusiastic about Doctor Who. "There's a bathtub?"

"Indeed there is." James is looking at him with a kind of amazed fondness. He's been doing that ever since they kissed. It helps Q breathe better, funny enough.

"Then a bath. Thank you." 

There are a lot of steps involved in making said bathing possible, but James shows no impatience or irritation. As he runs the water he dips his fingers in it and touches it lightly to Q's cheek. "How's the temperature?"

"A little hotter." He feels a bit silly, naked in a wheelchair with plastic wrapped around his hands and legs, but silly is far better than other things he could be feeling. Things he would be feeling if it were anyone else.

"This?"

"Good, yes."

James lowers him in with utmost care. The water is a balm, surrounding him, pinking his skin. "Your fingers will heal faster than your legs. The breaks are simpler. As little as a month."

"Mm." Q devoutly hopes he won't go mad from a whole month.

Kissing the base of his neck, James continues, "No one will blame you if it makes you rather irritable. God knows I'd be homicidal after just three days." He reaches for the soap.

"Who says I'm not?" We laugh lest we cry.

James' lips quirk. "You hide it well, if so. Lean back a little."

"I've been brainstorming the schematics for a tracking device that could be surgically implanted. Just dictated an email to Medical to ask about various factors. Biology was never my strongest subject." Q shivers a little with the feeling of strong fingers rubbing suds across his skin. 

This makes James pause. "That's a good shiver, I hope."

"I'd tell you if it wasn't." Q sees regret shadow James' face. "There's something else you're not telling me."

"It's going to make you upset."

"I still want to hear it." His fingers itch like bloody hell.

"Again, there were no photographs. And nothing was sent to anyone but me. But to get my attention and trick me into chasing the wrong leads, I was sent a three-minute video." The words are very quiet but James' hands neither shake nor make a single error.

Q breathes in and out. In and out. "Which part?"

"Must you?"

"Which part?"

"Two of them at once and one holding you in place. Please don't ever make me say that again." James puts the soap down and gingerly clings to Q by the shoulders. "I don't want you thinking my actions are out of patronizing sympathy. You're so brave it makes me want to kill things."

Q breaks the silence that follows by raising an eyebrow and asking with a level of snark he doesn't actually feel, "More than usual? That's impressive."

Stunned laughter, and James can function again. He picks up a washcloth and resumes his task. "I make it entire weeks without killing anyone, you know."

"And you could quit anytime. You only kill socially, after all." 

"Cheeky code monkey."

"Emotionally stunted relic." Q is going to have nightmares tonight, but at least it will be easier to fall asleep with someone at his side, someone who had seen him at his most pitiable and yet admired rather than pitied.


End file.
